It's the separation that hurts
by Natanami
Summary: After the seven years war Canada finally gets to see his beloved brother again, only to be torn from France's side. Now Canada must cope and adjust to life with England and America.
1. Chapter 1

It was a brisk September day, with a wind designed to cut to the bone. Gold and red leaves danced in the crown of the trees and not a cloud darkened the day. A young Canada sat at the window reading a book; every now and then he glanced out the window. It was a habit he had picked up over the seven long, lonely years that France had gone to war. He wasn't expecting to see France coming up the road, but he always hoped. He had received letters, but nothing was as good as having France home again.

Canada had grown in the time that France was gone; he would be turning fourteen soon, almost a man. He had learned a few languages and taught himself to read. There were many other things that he had learned to do, but Canada was still a reclusive child, about the only person he associated with was that loud, rude boy next door. Although most of those encounters were often initiated by America.

Canada pushed his glasses up onto his nose as he returned to his book. The book was a history book that France had left him; oh how he missed the flower language. He had tried speaking French to America, but the other boy laughed at him and called him a sissy. Canada sighed and looked out the window again. He was really distracted today. Then he noticed something that caused his heart to race.

There was a figure on the horizon. Canada sat his book down and was outside the door before his brain had even recognized the vague shape of the Frenchman. It was France. It had to be. Canada jumped off the porch and ran as fast as he could toward his older brother.

Except it wasn't just his older brother, England was there too. Canada came to a screeching halt and almost tripped over himself in confusion. It appeared as if England was dragging France to the house. France himself had obviously been roughed up; his uniform, which he took such good care of, was wrinkled, dirty, and even ripped in a few places; his left eye was so swollen that it made it almost impossible to see the eye; and he was bleeding in a few places.

"France!" Canada yelled and ran to take the nation away from England. "What happened? Are you alright?" The moment felt surreal to Canada, even as he laid hands on France. This wasn't supposed to be his return. He was supposed to return at the crack of dawn, sauntering down the road with a seductive smile, boasting of how wonderful he was for beating the pulp out of England.

France smiled pathetically at Canada as he was taken into the boy's arms. "I have missed you," he said in the flowery language that Canada had so longed to hear. It almost brought the young nation to tears.

"I've missed you too," he replied automatically as he pulled his jacket off. It took him a few tries before he was able to rip off a few strips, and he instantly turned to binding up France's wounds. "What happened to you?"

"You're adorable as always," France chuckled. "The best brother a nation could ask for."

"It's not funny," Canada protested. "You're hurt." France put his hand behind Canada's head and pulled him close to his chest and wrapped his other arm about him. Canada muttered weak protests, but couldn't find the will to push the older nation away.

"You don't have to worry about me," France said. "It's nothing that will kill me." Then he kissed the top of Canada's head. Canada wasn't certain, but he thought he felt tears drop onto his hair.

"Hurry up you bloody wanker," England interrupted. The sudden change in languages being spoken was jarring to poor Canada.

"Show some respect English bastard," France shot back. "He'll be yours in a few moments; don't ruin the time I have left." Canada pushed away from France, eyes wide in confused horror.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked, not really sure if he wanted to hear the answer, eyes shifting from one nation to the other. England seemed indifferent to whatever was going on; France, on the other hand, had traces of tears in his eyes. "This has something to do with the war doesn't it?" A look of shame crossed France's eyes, and Canada's heart froze in his chest. "No," he whispered.

"I lost," France said in his native language. "I'm sorry. I did my best, I just wasn't strong enough."

"What I'm sure that French dog is trying to tell you is that he is no longer your guardian and you'll have to come live with me from now on," England said bluntly. The world collapsed in on Canada, and the chilled air turned to ice in his lungs.

It wasn't possible, it couldn't be. This was some kind of sick joke that the older nations were playing. He did not wait for seven years for France to return home just to be ripped away from him. It wasn't fair and just couldn't be true.

But the look on France's face said otherwise.

"No," Canada whispered; his voice shaking. He grabbed France's shoulders, as if to gain some form of control over the situation. "No France, tell me it's a lie, tell me it's a trick. But don't tell me that this is the end. I don't want to say goodbye, I don't want you to go. You can't leave me, not now, not ever." The further along Canada got the more frantic he became, voice constantly cracking and almost in full out tears by the time he was done. France's face darkened as his head sunk towards his chest.

"I did the best I could," France mumbled, as if that could change anything.

At this moment England, who decided that the two nations had been given enough time to say their goodbyes, grabbed Canada by the arm and dragged the boy southward. Canada struggled with all of his might against the older European nation. But it was in vain.

"France!" Canada screamed. "Please don't let him take me! I don't want to leave you! Please, France! Don't you want me to stay with you, forever by your side? Fight for me!" Then the tears swallowed Canada's ability speak.

France sat unmoving from where Canada had left him and a lone tear ran down his cheek. "I can't."

Time for the disclaimer: Characters not mine, situation inspired by the French-Indian war (Seven year war). Oddly enough this fic was not inspired by a picture like my other two, I got the idea for this story while working on my last story. I have plans for making this longer than a one shot and America will be making an appearance next chapter. Reviews are always enjoyed and will inspire me to write faster. (I wish I could have written the exchange between Canada and France in French, but the only foreign language I know is German. So please forgive me on this fact.


	2. Chapter 2

America had been ecstatic when England returned, sure that meant horrible food, but it was horrible food that he didn't have to cook. The joy that filled him when he brought Canada with him was indescribable, but in the past two weeks Canada had sat in the same chair in his room, looking out into God knows what with a depressed feel about him. The longer that Canada locked himself away, the more and more depressing the house became. And as a cheerful, outgoing person, he couldn't allow Canada to spread his depressing cloud any further.

His mind made up America walked up the stairs in the excited pace for which he would one day be known for. He went straight up to Canada's room and slammed the door open without hesitation as a wiser or more timid man might have.

"Good morning Canada!" he cheerfully proclaimed. "Have the trees done anything interesting today?" He moved over to look out the window, even though he knew what he was going to see. His room was right next to Canada's and had the same view as the boy. As expected, nothing interesting was going on beyond the pane of glass.

Canada didn't respond, didn't even acknowledge that America had entered the room. After a moment of complete quiet, an eternity in America's mind, the Yank looked at the other nation. Canada's face was ashen, his eyes sunken into his face, and his eyes were completely blank. America was out of that room faster than a horse running from fire.

"England!" America yelled as he bolted down the stairs, almost falling down them in his haste. "England! England!" He ran through the living room, searched the parlor, nothing was burning so he avoided the kitchen, and eventually ran into the yard. "England! England! England!"

England, who had been gardening, got to his feet and only had a second to brace himself when the younger nation barreled into him. "England it's horrible! We have to do something! I'm not sure what happened!" England sighed; planting the lilies would have to wait.

"America, I can't understand you. Take a deep breath and tell me what happened," England instructed.

"Canada's dead!" America exclaimed. England paled and he ran to Canada's room, only getting there faster than America because of his longer legs. America hung back by the door as England looked Canada over. He heard England sigh in relief as he picked up Canada and set him on his bed. America looked expectantly at England as he returned.

"He's not dead, only exhausted," England said in a stern voice. "Don't ever scare me like that again. Next time make sure he's not breathing before claiming he's dead." Then he swatted America's hand in punishment. "Never let emotions override your judgment." Then he went to return to the garden.

"Never let emotions override your judgment," America mocked and stuck his tongue in the direction England had gone. "Stupid git." With the crisis passed America walked up to the bedside. He had never seen what exhaustion looked like, and was rather curious of it. After a few moments of watching Canada's eyes closed. America was careful, this time, to note the rise and fall of Canada's chest. Satisfied that the doom and gloom couldn't spread while Canada was asleep, America left the room feeling rather triumphant. Somehow he had managed to save the day. But this victory left America rather bored with nothing to do.

"Let's go bother England," America decided. After all, a moment spent annoying England was a moment well spent. So with a cheery outlook he went out to the garden. England was finally planting the lilies as America walked up and sat beside him. England grimaced at the thought of what America might have gotten into his head this time.

"Canada's sleeping," the boy said.

"That's good, it means he'll recover faster," England said, though he was amazed at how considerate America was being. He recalled multiple times being so rudely awakened just because America wanted to know what day it was, or something stupid like that.

"So what's exhaustion?" America asked.

"Exhaustion is the state of being when someone hasn't had enough sleep. A few causes of it are caused by lack of sleep, not enough food, and having worked too hard," England said. He continued to talk, probably some attempt to teach America something, but America didn't really care. And it was no fun to bother America if England was going to talk through the entirety of it. So he left.

America wandered about the land and house without a clue of what to do, and to be honest, he was bored out of his mind. Eventually he ended up with the kitchen with a growling stomach. England had left a plate of whatever-the-hell-breakfast-was on the counter, but America had no real interest in eating something that England had made. So, with nothing better to do, America got out a pan and began to make his favorite meal of all time. Hamburgers.

The smell of cooking meat flowed through the kitchen, making America's stomach growl even more. He moved about the kitchen; slicing onions and tomatoes; chopping up lettuce; and toasting the buns. "I swear, when I'm my own country I'll hire people to make hamburgers all the time so I never have to wait for a burger," America muttered. England would have reprimanded him if he heard what the Yank had just said. Would've probably said something along the lines of 'that's a waste of manpower and treason, now go peel carrots'.

After about an hour America had finished making, and eating his hamburgers. He ate seven burgers in total. He was, after all, a growing nation and needed his strength. But try as he might he couldn't eat the final burger. There was no sense in letting the burger go to waste; the thought itself almost brought the Yank to tears. England wouldn't appreciate the burger, so that left one other person in the house. Besides didn't England say something about Canada needing food to cure his whatever-the-hell-was-wrong-with-him? So, with his mind made up, America paraded up the stairs to present Canada with the burger.

Canada was back in his chair by the time America entered, looking out into the trees. "Hello Canada!" America proudly proclaimed. "I thought you might be hungry so I made you a hamburger." He waltzed over to the Canada and put the burger on the side table.

Canada looked at the burger beside him. "I'm not hungry," he muttered as he turned back to the window.

"But you have to eat it," America blurted. "I can't let a hamburger go to waste, and England won't even touch it." Canada turned and glared at the other nation. Slowly he rose from his chair, and then pushed America out of his room. It wasn't until he heard the lock click into place that America realized that it would have been better had he not spoken at all. That and the hamburger was still in the room with Canada. The poor hamburger, destined never to be eaten.

"Canada," America yelled as he pounded on the door. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean for it to sound like that. Please open the door."

"Go away!" Canada yelled. That was the only response America got, even after ten minutes of pounding on the door.

"Well this is certainly troublesome," America mumbled as he walked into his room. Not only was the hamburger in danger of not being eaten, but Canada had gone back to spreading the depressingness around the house. Depression; that was the word he was looking for. So he took to pacing the room as he attempted to find a reasonable solution to this big mess.

"The biggest problem will be getting into the room," America muttered to himself. "Canada probably won't open the door, and there's no way in hell that England is going to give me the key. I can't break one of the walls down, so that just leaves the window." A light went off in America's head as he dashed to his window.

There it was, just as he thought; a roof that connected his window and Canada's. Sure England would have a fit if he knew America walked about on the roof, but it would be worth it just to see his reaction. America was halfway out the window when another thought occurred to him. How would he cheer Canada up?

It took a bit longer to come up with a solution to that than the window idea. He snuck down into England's room, and rooted through the chest at the end of his bed till he found what he was looking for, and then he dashed back up the stairs to the safety of his room. America grinned as he climbed into the gaudy outfit. Canada would definitely cheer up at the sight of this, America thought, either that or shocked.

I don't look half bad, America thought as he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the window. Oh how he would love to see England's reaction to this later, but for now it was time to go cheer up some grouchy Canada. Very carefully, America slipped out the window and walked over to the other room.

Canada took one look at the Yank and fell out of the chair. His mouth was gaping and his eye wide as he tried to understand what stood before him. After the initial shock passed Canada ripped the window open.

"What are you wearing?" Canada asked bewildered. America smiled triumphantly.

"England's dress," he said proudly. "I think it belonged to one of his queens, either that or a very interesting king. I haven't quite decided yet. Can I come in?" Canada nodded mutely and stepped away from the window to allow the other nation in.

"Aren't you worried you'll get in trouble?" Canada asked. "England's going to be furious." America laughed.

"Actually I look forward to seeing his face once he's realized what I've done," America boasted. "He turns the most interesting shade of red when he's angry."

"But aren't you scared of what he'll do to punish you?" Canada asked weakly.

"Are you kidding? The worse he's ever done to me was make me work in the garden and slap me on the hand a couple of times. He might seem all mean, but he can be such a wimp sometimes."

Canada just stared at the other nation. He couldn't imaging going against England like America was. After all England had beaten France up; and France was the strongest person he had ever known. And here America was, laughing at the idea. It made his head reel.

"So are you feeling better now?" America asked. Canada nodded and smiled weakly at the Yank. The first time America had seen him smile in a long time. "So what do you say? Brothers?"

Canada nodded slowly. "Brothers," he agreed. Perhaps living with America and England wasn't going to be as bad as he thought. Though he really wished he could see France again.

"Alright, and now with that settled, let's go find England," America proclaimed. "It shouldn't take him much longer to learn of his missing dress."

"I'm not so sure that's a good idea," Canada protested.

"Nonsense."

And as they left the room the hamburger sat lonely on the side table. Never to be eaten.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything that is written above, not the characters, not the plot. The only thing that is mine is the voice that I write with, so if you wish to write about the same thing I am then go ahead, just don't write it word for word as you have just read. Before I have a random amount of people telling me that hamburgers didn't exist during the time of whenever this is I would like to say that I'm almost certain they didn't exist, but had no idea what would be period accurate and as iconic as the burger. (Hell for all I know the hamburger already existed, I'm too lazy to try and look it up. And on a side note I'm not too good with history so there might be some discrepancy from time to time.) And for those of you who are interested I wanted to put America in Bloody Mary's dress, but again had no idea whether that would have been before or after the time period I'm writing about. Suggestions and reviews are appreciated. I plan to have the next chapter out by this time next week, but might speed up the process if people message me or give me some ideas. And I'd like to take the time now to thank all those who reviewed and favorite my story. It means a lot to me.


	3. Chapter 3

Living with England wasn't as bad as Canada had first believed. England was fair in his treatment of the new inhabitant in the house, he made certain that Canada was well fed, even if the food wasn't the greatest, well clothed, and he hadn't raised his voice at all when addressing Canada. It also helped that America was causing enough trouble for the two boys all by himself.

Living in the same house as America wasn't quite as horrible as he would have thought either. Sure, the moments of peace where the other nation wasn't bothering him were rare and not as long as he'd like, but America also had the ability to be a source of unending enjoyment. The other nation also seemed to have a knack for annoying England, like slipping earthworms into the chocolate cake and stealing every left shoe in the hall closet.

England had given the boys a few days to get used to each other and become accustomed to the new dynamics of the household. At first he introduced a simple system where America and Canada would split the chores; then a few days later he began working on their educations.

"Today we will be learning about, and reading important pieces of literature," England said as he set a tea set on the table between them.

"Why are we doing this at teatime?" Canada asked rather confused. "I thought teatime was an important time to converse and enjoy company." England smiled at the boy, pleased at his interest in customs of another country; if only America would pick up on this little habit.

"Teatime is also a good time to brush up on culture and also creates wonderful conversations if everyone has read the piece of literature being discussed," England explained. America snorted in amusement, which earned him a glare from England. "Do you have something you wish to share?"

"He's just going to make us read some play by a stupid guy named shake-a-spear," America commented to Canada. "He's obsessed with the guy and all the plays are the exact same."

"His name is Shakespeare and he was a master writer," England defended. Canada shrugged and took a copy of Romeo and Juliet from the table and looked it through it randomly. "Nothing in his books was taken from another one, so I don't want to hear that rubbish ever again."

"Oh really?" America questioned with raised eyebrows. "I learned a few years ago a simple summary for all of the plays he did."

"I would like to see you try," England scoffed. America grinned evilly.

"Well," America said as he held up his hand to count. "The main character is always some emo depressed boy bent on some type of reckless scheme that will end up getting him killed, he takes half of the cast to hell with him, all the women are called whores multiple times and often by different people, half of the people who die don't deserve it but their deaths are amusing as all hell, and at least one character is mentally unstable."

"What about a Midsummer's Night Dream?" England asked with a smug look on his face. "No one dies in that, and there's a happy ending."

"In that one everyone's on LSD," America replied and stuck out his tongue. England's cheeks burned as he glared at the annoying blonde; if he wasn't such a gentleman he would take a leather belt to the young brat's tail end to teach him a lesson. However, he was a gentleman, and as a gentleman would never resort to such barbaric punishments.

"Go to your room," England ordered, "I don't want to see you for the rest of the day, and you are not to come down for supper."

America stood and stalked over to the stairs. "I don't want to see you either!" he yelled. "And your food tastes like crap!" Then he ran upstairs and slammed his door shut. England gulped down a quick breath of air and suppressed the thought of strangling the young nation within an inch of his life.

Canada sat in his chair reading the book, completely oblivious to what had just transpired to the two nations. Either that or he was a master at ignoring the tension between them. England sighed and took a sip of tea to calm his nerves. He wasn't sure of what was going on with America; he had never had so many troubles with the boy before the war, sure he had always been annoying, but never to such a degree that was displayed now.

"So what is Romeo and Juliet about?" Canada asked as he set the book down. England smiled triumphantly; at least one of his little brothers cared to learn new things.

"Romeo and Juliet is about a forbidden love between two people. Romeo and Juliet come from two rival families that are constantly picking fights with one another. Through their love their families are able to overcome their differences and learn to live with each other," England said.

"So it's not only well written, but has a moral to go along with it," Canada said as if testing the idea. The boy's interest didn't seem spoiled by America's words, England thought, and that was the best scenario for him.

"All of the best writing has a lesson for us to learn," England instructed. Canada thought a moment and then nodded with a smile as he understood what England was saying.

"It's just like the fairy tales France would tell me before…" Canada's voice faltered and England had to really try to keep the relaxed smile on his face. Canada shook his head to dispel the thought and waited for England to continue teaching.

America burst out laughing the moment he was safely hidden behind his door. No food was a rather harsh punishment, but the look on England's face was worth the price he had to pay. He could imagine his poor little brother, politely sitting through the entire hour either reading or talking about the oh so wonderful works of Shakespeare. Besides, it wasn't like he was going to starve.

America searched under his bed for a box which he had hidden for such occasions as this. A smile crossed the Yank's face when his fingers made contact with a cardboard box. He couldn't remember when he had hid the box, but knew that it would one day come in handy. America beamed as he opened the box; then his face fell in confusion.

What was supposed to be a burger, golden in it's amazing and awesomeness, was green, fuzzy, and twitching. America closed the lid and opened it again, as if the second opening would change anything and his hamburger would magically appear.

"Well this sucks," America said as he shoved the box back under his bed. "Now what do I do?"

Canada knocked on his brother's door, his eyes quickly checking over his shoulder to make sure he hadn't been caught by England. He hadn't gotten into trouble with the older nation yet, but he still feared his wrath. America might be able to laugh it off, but he wasn't America.

"Can I help you?" America sneered through the door. "Are you here to taunt me with your redness." Canada just stared at the door in surprise.

"America?" he asked hesitantly. There was a loud slam, as Canada assumed something hit the floor and then the door was ripped open.

"You're not England, here to threaten some manners into me?" America asked. Canada shook his head, thoroughly confused. "That's all good then, sorry about the insult. So how was Shake-a-spear?"

"He's a good writer," Canada said, shyly shifting on his feet. He glanced over his shoulder again, England was still nowhere in sight. "I snuck you some food," Canada rushed and shoved a napkin filled with food into America's hands. Then he ran into his room.

And I think I'll leave it there. I had another idea to add in, but decided that you guys have waited for this chapter long enough. Sorry it took me forever and I don't feel like saying anything other than I'm lazy. Not my characters. I own nothing. Hope you enjoyed.


End file.
